


Crow-ley

by Uniasus



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, No beta we fall like Crowley, Post-Fall (Good Omens), Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: Crawly didn't like his new name, but he took it anyway.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Crow-ley

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine that all biblical events happen in this timey-wimey sphere. I think, technically, the Flood and thus Crowley telling Aziraphale his full name is before Jacob and Esau, but I'm not sure and I don't care enough to fact check that/change this story. Genisis is a right old mess I refuse to untangle.

He didn't care for Lucifer's speech. Didn't care to attend, didn't care to listen, but he knew in this new world he couldn’t stand out as he had in Heaven. He wanted to be overlooked, ignored, invisible, and unharassed. So he followed the masses to hear Lucifer speak.

Parts had been quite good, he supposed. Lucifer had always been an excellent orator, it's what landed most of them in Hell. He talked about shucking off the identities and concerns God had given them. Taking new names, _demon names_. Lucifer christened himself Satan and then the fallen angels all around we pushing forward, pleading for new names of their own.

He didn't want a new name, but he wanted to stand out even less.

On his turn, Satan looked at him and gave him two gifts. A new name – Crawly – and a new form – a snake.

Crawly bowed his head, professed his thanks through gritted teeth, and hissed in fake satisfaction at his new form.

Later, alone in the excitement of freedom and winning, if it could be called that, Crawly curled underneath a rock and looked up.

He was a creature of dirt and holes now, but he'd once lived among the stars.

Snakes, he learned that night, can't cry.

* * *

The first seven days of the world were simultaneously longer, shorter, and exactly seven days. Time hadn't gotten the bugs out of its system yet. Thus, Crawly knew he was a snake before he watched Adam name the very first one. It was how Aziraphale's white robes caused pain in Crawly's chest both new and a thousand years old.

And how, when asked, Crawly's own name sat like a strange stone on his tongue and a scar a mile deep.

Time snapped into proper order when Adam killed the lion. Death changes people, changes the world.

Watching the birds take to the wing and flee a crumbling Eden, was the first time Crawly experienced regret. It wouldn't be the last.

* * *

Most demons, if they so inclined, _could_ fly. But as much as Crawly wished for it, it wasn't meant to be. God had turned his snake body, his unwanted new form, into a proper curse. _On your belly in the dirt you will crawl._

He never thanked Her for considering human feet to be his belly, in case She took away his ability to walk as well as fly.

* * *

Crawly watched a lot of humans. He felt responsible for them, in a way, but he also didn't want to be in Hell. Wasn't sure he wanted to be in Heaven either. Earth would have to do.

He wondered a lot at names. Who chose what. Why. Father names carried importance for humans, even as Crawly was thankful he could not remember the name his Mother gave him.

Jacob and Esau fascinated him. To take another's name for the sake of taking what he had…

He knew if he suddenly called himself Gabriel he wouldn't be an Archangel, just a loser demon who'd get picked on. But to take a different name, grasp one _he_ wanted, one to help him get what he desired, well, Crawly could do that. Shed Satan's influence, reach beyond God's curse.

Self-naming, self-identification, self-power.

Now to figure out what he wanted.

* * *

It wasn't the stars.

Sure, Crawly yearned for them. Remembered their songs and touch. But each star was linked with Heaven, with the Mother who didn't love him, and getting that love back wasn't happening. He'd take an apology and explanation, but it's hard to get over getting kicked out of your house by your own Mom. There'd always be a bitter undercurrent between him and God, and Crawly had no desire to name himself in a way to get closer to that.

* * *

It wasn't love.

He'd felt the sting of that betrayal and had no wish to cement it to his core with a name invoking love. Love could be wonderful or poison or it the brutal, chest cracking destruction of yourself that left you panting and aching and so, so alone. He'd be fine not getting love.

* * *

He knew what he didn't want.

He didn't want Satan's name.

He didn't want God's curse.

He didn't want to watch his words in Hell, to corrupt human souls, follow orders, or feel forced to fit in for his own protection.

 _I want to be me._ But "me" was a stupid name and all other renditions of "Yahweh" were taken.

* * *

Again and again, Crawly looked to the stars, the sky. So open, so empty, you could travel where you wanted at whatever speed you desired. Fly through a cloud, skim over the ocean, bank around a mountain, or go up, up, up and look down on the Earth to see the patterns of people.

 _What did they look like?_ Crawly wondered. He knew the bark of trees, the heat of sand, the roads packed from mules. _What has left a planet-wide mark, and how? What can one see from the sky that I can't crawling on my stomach and feet?_

Sometimes, he'd pull out his wings and let the wind ruffle through them.

He never flapped. He knew better.

* * *

That's what I want, he realized observing a group of birds on a clay-baked roof. Their wings reminded Crawly of his own, black and shimmery, but it was more than their ability to fly he coveted.

He liked how they dive-bombed humans they didn't like. How they cawed loudly, sometimes just for the sake of it. The picking up and examining of odd bits and ends they found interesting.

They were curious. They were independent. Smart. Protective. They held no regard for the humans trying to sweep them away with a broom.

 _To be a crow_ , Crawly thought, sitting on the edge of the adjacent roof, legs crossed and face resting on his left fist, _wouldn't be so bad_.

He'd gotten fond of the "ly" part of his name. It rhymed with fun words. But to be a crow...

 _Crow-ley_ He grinned to himself. _That's a name I'd be pleased to have. A person I'd be happy to be._

He tasted it in his mind, formed the shape of with on his tongue. And when he first used it to identify himself, to an angel no less, something clicked.

He wasn't Satan's.

He wasn't God's.

He, like the crows, was a badass being free to do whatever he wanted.

Crowley belonged to himself and that was more freeing than flying.


End file.
